Fortune Favors the Bold
by tenaciousToxophilite
Summary: Dave Strider arrives with a bang at #12 Grimmauld, and attempts to put his broken, missing memories back together, while the Golden Trio tries to help. But it might take more than he is willing to give up. Meanwhile, the aforementioned trio aims to unravel the mystery that is the shades-wearing coolkid. OFFICIALLY ABANDONED! Sorry, guys.
1. Harry: Wonder what your life has come to

Chapter 1 - Harry: Wonder what your life has come to.

* * *

Everything was too bright, and all he knew was that his head hurt like hell.

"Ow... Turn off the light..." Dave opened his eyes slowly and painfully, squinting to dim his vision even the smallest amount. His sunglasses definitely helped in the endeavor, though the brightness of... wherever he was still pierced into his vision. Looking down at himself, he saw he was wearing all-red clothing, almost like pajamas, with a stylized gear on the front and a long cape attached to the back. He knew it was significant, but he couldn't remember why. Attempts to recall anything were only met with a horrible headache. Warily, he observed his foreign surroundings.

The room was somewhat messy, with what looked like knitting needles and scarves abandoned halfway through their production scattered about. A large hole in the wall revealed a bright, pastel-colored skyline that had to be artificial. A few large machines sat on the sides of the room, broken beyond repair. But one of the most eye-catching, and somewhat disturbing, features of the room was that the word 'MEOW' was scratched out hundreds of times on the walls in a purple pen, as if by a lunatic.

Hearing a small cough behind him, he turned around instantly. A girl stood behind him.

She wore a bright orange dress, with an emblem of a stylized sun on it. She floated above the ground by a few inches, and seemed to radiate brightness, which at least solved one of the questions Dave had. A hood covered most of her face, but he could make out black painted lips, upturned in a bit of a smile. He watched as she pulled up her hood over her head, revealing short hair the color of cornsilk and radiant lavender eyes. She wore an orange headband, matching her outfit.

"I'm sorry it had to be this way," she said, and Dave noticed that her smile was a bit strained, as if she was forcing herself not to cry. He noticed red out of the corner of his vision, and looked down at the source.

Her torso had a gaping hole in it, and her orange outfit was being soaked in a dripping red.

"Rose," he murmured finally, remembering the girl's name. Rose's expression was now pained, not bothering to hide anything from him anymore, and tears fell freely from her eyes. Dave watched in horror as the vibrant purple faded into a milky white.

"I'm so sorry, Dave." Dave's vision blurred, and he couldn't tell if it was because he was being pulled away from the room with the dying girl, or if he was crying.

"Rose!" Dave screamed, trying to grab her hand. But it was too late, and as he was pulled away from Rose, from his sister, he could only hear faint voices whispering the same word, over and over.

_"Heroic. Heroic. Heroic."_

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was sitting in his office, organizing his paperwork when a rip in the fabric of the universe appeared before him.

Rather than panic, as someone might expect, he merely glanced up at its cage in vague confusion, as though he were wondering why this tear in the fabric of space-time chose that particular moment to appear before him, rather than wonder _why _this tear in the fabric of space-time appeared in the first place.

He stood, arching an eyebrow as he saw what seemed to be a letter poking out of the black void. Carefully, he reached to grab it, only for it to be spit out of the abyss onto the floor. The rift in dimensions seemed to heal itself with a soft, jade glow, before Albus' vision whited out for a moment. He grabbed his desk to steady himself, blinking the spots out of his eyes.

Everything was the same. Did he just imagine it?

But as Albus looked to the ground, he noticed a meticulously folded letter on the ground, right where the rift had been. A small smile lifted his face, his eyes regaining their signature twinkle.

"I wonder what fate holds for us now," he murmured sagely to his phoenix companion as he picked up the letter, running an old, wrinkled thumb against the new papers.

* * *

It was a fairly normal day, or at least as normal as someone's day could be when living in a magical house.

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place buzzed with activity, and Harry Potter was finally lightening up and getting used to the swing of things at the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters. Of course, he was still angry at Hermione, Ron, and most of all Dumbledore for withholding so much information. But inside, he knew it wasn't his best friends' faults. They weren't allowed to tell him, after all, and perhaps it truly was for the better.

Harry had missed them much more than he was willing to admit, and Mrs. Weasley's cooking only improved his mood. The three worked together to listen in on Order meetings, and the Boy Who Lived was honestly having a better time than he had been having for quite a while. The subject of the upcoming trial was still a bit of a nerve-wracking topic for him, but his friends had assured him he would be fine. And it was hard not to believe them.

At the time, the Chosen One was more than content to eat good food with his friends and laugh at the twins' antics.

Of course, this didn't last. It never did.

A bright red light gleamed above the dinner table, and Harry shielded his eyes. Whispers leaked out, whispers of so many concepts Harry couldn't comprehend. _Heroic. Just. The Knight is dead. Your words are boring._

"What's happening?" he yelled over the whispers, which were only growing in volume, but nobody heard. Everyone looked shocked, and most had their wands out. Harry followed suit, pointing it at the ceiling. Chancing a look, he noticed it wasn't completely red, like he thought, but rather a yellow and a red symbol overlapping. The red symbol looked like a stylized cog, like you would see in a clock, while the yellow was a sun. They both shone brightly, and as he watched, a figure fell from it.

The light abruptly stopped shining, and the noise stopped as the person, cloaked in red, smashed down onto the dinner table. Then, as if it was an afterthought, a pair of sunglasses dropped down from the last remains of the symbols and thunked on top of their head.

"...What the hell?"

* * *

**AN: Well, hi! I'm Mollie, and this is my first fanfiction! I have attempted to write them before, but I never thought they were good enough to upload. However, I am quite confident in this one! Just to make it clear, romance will not be prominent in this story. Interpret things as you want, though. ;)**

**Constructive criticism, ideas, spotted errors and all reviews in general will be incredibly helpful and inspiring! This fanfiction will not have a set update schedule, I'm warning you now. A****ll ideas are welcome, too!**

**Please review! Thank you for reading!**


	2. Dave: Wake up

Chapter 2 - Dave: Wake up.

* * *

Mrs. Weasley was the first to take action, ignoring Ron's outburst and rushing toward the figure. A few shouts came from other members, but she just glared at them in response.

"We don't have time to argue! The poor child is bleeding to death!" And Harry noted with shock that both things she said was true. After the spots cleared from his vision, Harry saw the shock of white-blonde hair against the overwhelming red of their clothing. A coppery smell began to fill the air, and he saw that the person on the table was barely breathing. Rusty blood began to seep through the cracks of the table, and Harry, in what could only be described as a bewildered daze, watched blankly and uncomprehendingly as Mrs. Weasley desperately waved her wand.

"He could be a Death Eater!" Moody boomed, trying to wrench the wand out of her hand. "We can't trust him, much less help him! If we-"

"Shut up, Alastor! There is a child bleeding to death on my kitchen table, and you're concerned about Death Eaters? We don't have time for this! He's _dying!_" Mrs. Weasley yelled back to him, determination like steel in her eyes.

Moody seemed shocked into silence, and Mrs. Weasley finally was able to carry him out of the room, levitating tentatively behind her.

The stench of iron started to overwhelm him, and Harry's eyes watered. He looked at the ceiling, and noticed the sun and gear symbols were engraved into it. Finally realizing his wand was still pointed at the ceiling, he lowered it and snapped back into reality.

As in the typical fashion, questions began to overflow in his mind. _Who was that kid? Why did he appear here? What were those symbols?_ It seemed Ron and Hermione were sharing his thought process, as usual. The three of them could practically read each others' minds. He gave them both a meaningful glance once they looked over at him, and the two nodded slightly.

Slipping out of the room was easy, since everyone was still in an uproar and looking about suspiciously, as though other people were going to drop out of the ceiling.

In the hallway, Fred, George and Ginny were already waiting. The common mischievous smirks had disappeared from the twins' faces, and Ginny looked somewhat troubled.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Ron asked, eyes so wide it looked like they were about to pop out of his head.

"As if we know! I hope that guy's okay..." Ginny said, trailing off and looking at the floor. Her hands nervously wrung out the bottom of her crimson sweater, and Harry longed to hug her and comfort her. A faint blush tinged his pale cheeks red at the thought. He dismissed it, and focused back on what had just happened.

"We should discuss this upstairs." Harry told them, and he began ascending the stairs two steps at a time, attempting to escape the heavy scent of blood that soaked the halls of the house.

* * *

Molly was incredibly confused.

The boy, as it had been revealed, had been bleeding severely, and had extreme wounds in both his stomach and chest. She had half a mind to bring him to St. Mungo's. He was incredibly scrawny as well, and she was extremely concerned. Honestly, it was a miracle he was still alive. It was as though he had been stabbed... The woman frowned. _I'll have to ask him when he wakes up_._ The poor dear..._

As she finished up recasting a few healing spells and was about to exit the room, a small groan echoed around the room. She looked back in surprise, and saw her patient slowly sitting up, hand on his head and eyes still closed.

She rushed over to check on him, once more worrying about his health.

"Shit, what happened?" He muttered under his breath, opening his eyes slowly. She only realized her mistake in how close her face was to his at that moment.

"Agh!" He recoiled away from her and scrambled backwards, successfully slamming his back against the headboard of the bed.

"Jesus fuck, ow!"

"You shouldn't be up yet, you're horribly injured. And watch your language!" Molly said sternly, frowning as she lightly shoved the boy down into bed. She noted how he had a strange accent. Perhaps he was American? Though she couldn't see why an American would break into the headquarters. He resisted against her, sitting up and looking around.

"Where the hell am I?" He asked with a fierce undertone, opening his eyes to glare at her. She unsuccessfully stifled a gasp as the irises were revealed to be not blue, green, brown, or any other typical color, but a bright, fiery red that seemed to glare into her very being. Power seemed to radiate off of him, and Molly was honestly doubting herself for a moment. They stayed like that for a while, vibrant red glaring into light, chocolaty brown. It was at that moment that she remembered that this child, no matter how skinny or young he may be, was a possible threat to the Order, and the wizarding community in general.

Then she had a thought. Remembering the sunglasses that had come with him, she held them out to him as a sort of peace symbol.

"I take it these are yours?" She said, her voice hiding how unnerved she was by this boy, and in particular, his eyes. _I suppose that explains why he wears them, _she thought, and for a moment wondered how it must have been growing up and having everyone treat him that way. The idea of it saddened her.

"Yeah. Thanks," he told her, taking the sunglasses and placing them on his face. Now that he was awake, she noticed how incredibly pale he was, and how the boy's blonde hair bordered on white.

"I'm Molly," she told him. "And you are?"

There was a moment of silence. For a moment, the boy's face contorted in pain. But it was gone so quickly that Molly could barely even convince herself it had happened. His expression was stoic and somewhat tense. But it wasn't laid back and calm; Instead, it was as though he was just holding back from crying.

"D-Dave," he finally managed to say. The boy - _No, Dave, _she chided herself - had looked unsure as he said the two words that should have been second nature. "That's it, though. What the fuck did I do to become an amnesiac?" He wondered out loud, looking at her with an accusatory eyebrow raised. Her motherly instincts were screaming at her to scold him for his language, but she held back. She had seen war enough to know that sometimes, age didn't matter in determining if you were a child or not.

Dave was definitely not a child.

"I'm not sure, Dave. But you remembered your first name, at least, and I'm sure it will all come back in time." She briefly wondered if he was telling the truth, or lying about his 'amnesia'. _We always have Veritaserum to check, _she told herself. But honestly, she wasn't sure what would be worse - Dave turning out to be a spy, or his memory actually being gone.

"That shit's hella depressing, dude. It's like that kid who keeps slurping through his straw, trying to get the last of the slushy even though there are only atomic-scale amounts of the slushy anymore, and you're just like 'Woah there champ slow down?' But no, that asinine little jerk-off just keeps on slurping, trying to make that invisible slushy count and all that happens is that weird sucking noise. Everyone's shaking their heads, because this tiny dumpass is shrieking about their cherry vomit juice being gone, and it's their fault for drinking it, and this little asshole won't shut up? And the slushy sorta sucked ass in the first place. It's pretty shitty, bro."

Mrs. Weasley could only stare.

* * *

"Just so you're aware, I don't trust you," Alastor had said to Dave as the younger sat in the library. "I'm convinced you're a Death Eater."

"You make it sound like I would care," Dave replied nonchalantly, eyes still trained on his book as he flipped a page. "I don't even know what that is. I've already told you that, haven't I?" His gaze left the book and looked up to the old Auror, and though his shades hid his eyes Moody could swear he was rolling them.

"I'm going to prove that you're untrustworthy. Everyone else here is too naive to notice on their own," Moody continued on. Part of why he was telling Dave was as a test to gauge his reaction. He wasn't wholly convinced that the kid was a Death Eater, but he was damn certain that he was the only one in the house with a proper amount of concern toward the kid.

Unexpectedly, a grin came to Dave's face, and its wideness seemed incredibly out of context for the current situation. Alastor's eyebrow raised. Dave's grin dimmed down into more of a smirk, though it was still cocky as ever.

Alastor decided that Death Eater or not, he _really _didn't like this kid.

"Whatever. I'm always up for a challenge, though. Shit's too boring around here."

And with that, he set the book aside, brushing past Moody as he walked out of the library. The Auror turned to watch him leave, Dave's golden blonde hair and self-assured strides making him pretty difficult to ignore.

_Damned kid._

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please leave a review with what you thought.**

**Well, I hope you enjoyed! Also, thanks to my main bitch CittenKitCat for helping me out!**

**(btw in the first paragraph this is basically how it went down  
****"HO DON'T DO IT," SCREAMED THE ORDER  
***** MRS WEASLEY RUSHES TOWARD DAVE *  
****"OH MY GOD," SCREAMED THE ORDER IN RETALIATION  
****i couldn't help myself ok i am memelord)**


	3. Golden Trio: Investigate

Chapter 3 - Golden Trio: Investigate.

* * *

In the silence of midnight, nobody noticed the faint glow peering out from under one of the many guest bedrooms' door.

Nobody noticed as multicolored, blinding light encased Dave Strider, and nobody cared when his most recent death - It was only a few minutes before, and in that very bed - was ruled neither heroic nor just.

After all, who would?

* * *

Minutes in the future, but not many...

* * *

Harry and Ron just had to see the boy. In their minds, it wasn't even a question.

After his (they really had to find out his name sooner or later, it was an annoyance to just say "the boy" or "the kid" over and over) dramatic entrance, it had been all that was on their minds. And as per usual, they refused to leave their curiosity unanswered. Harry was still awaiting his trial in a few days, and so nothing interesting had been going on. Harry found himself hungering for some sort of adventure.

Of course Hermione wouldn't approve - or at least, wouldn't approve of them going without her - but they were willing to take a lecture or two from her. And she was sleeping as well, so of course they didn't wake her up. Hermione was very particular about her sleep schedule, and the two boys didn't have a death wish.

It was a bit after midnight, 12:17 AM, to be exact. A sort of grim fascination had overtaken the two as they leaned against the wall outside the (seemingly) inconspicuous room.

They were about to enter when a faint whisper of "Lumos," echoed through the darkness. (_How did I forget to do that?_ Harry wondered, mentally facepalming.) A dim light slowly began to grow brighter, almost leisurely traveling through the large, seemingly endless hall. It was just dim enough for them to not wake anyone else up, but bright enough that they could see each other.

"You can't possibly think you're going without me, can you?" Hermione whispered as she stepped out, dim light continually emanating from her wand. One hand on her hip, the other dangling by her side with the wand tightly in her grip, she sighed at the two boys. Said boys were looking at her with an alarmed look that was akin to a deer caught in headlights.

"Honestly, you two." they nodded their apologies, but Ron and Harry knew she wasn't really mad, just exasperated.

Silently (or at least to them; To Dave they couldn't be louder,) opening the door, the Golden Trio "stealthily" slipped in.

Faint breathing echoed into the halls as the door opened. The three grinned, though Hermione's was much less of a grin and more a satisfied smile. _Jackpot, _they thought in unison.

The trio walked into the musty old guest bedroom, taking a few minutes to try to avoid squeaky floor panels. They failed. The house which belonged to the Black family was very old, after all. Ron winced each time the floorboards emitted a squeak, and Harry idly thought it looked as though he was having a spasm with all the flinching.

Finally managing to get to the bed, they peered over quietly, so as to not wake him up.

They succeeded at not waking him, since he was already awake, with sunglasses perched on his nose and a single eyebrow arched as he sat up. A slight tense in his face was visible before relaxing forcibly, like the act of sitting up hurt him but he didn't want to show it. The trio watched with interest. What would he say? Would he even know English?

"What the fuck." well, that answered both questions, Harry supposed. That train of thought was stopped as a blinding flash in his face made him crumple to the ground. Blood gushed out of his nose, and pain overwhelmed him. _What sort of spell is this? _Harry wondered through the pain.

His head grew fuzzy, and he heard his friends shouting. But after that, his head hurt too much. Blackness finally overwhelmed him.

* * *

Ron glared at Dave, who still looking at them with an expression of slight confusion. Well, actually, his expression was as blank as ever, but Ron liked to think they surprised him.

"What?" the prick with shades asked. Ron made a mental note to call him Insufferable Prick, as some sort of retaliation. (Even though he would only use that name mentally, and it therefore wouldn't be that effective, Ron still let himself feel a bit of pride at his rebellion.)

"What did you do!" Ron yelled furiously, as less of a question and more of an aggressive statement.

"I literally just punched him in the nose. It wasn't even that hard," the insufferable prick said. Though his face was calm, Ron had a feeling that he wasn't imagining that smug tone, and dammit, that pissed him off!

"Why would you do that?" Ron all but screamed in his face, any kind of stealth they may have had abandoned completely.

"You were the ones that sneaked in here in the first place. Self defense."

"Yeah, well, that's still not an excuse!" Ron had all but forgotten about unconscious Harry on the ground and Hermione in the corner, shaking her head.

"Sure it is. Three weird kids with a bunch of crazy light sticks sneak into the poor, defenseless amnesiac's room? I'm not really in the mood to play the role, dude."

Ron's face was bright red, and he was about to rip this kid a new one when the door burst open, bright light pooling around them.

"What's going on?" the eternally angry voice of Mad-Eye Moody boomed.

To the redhead's surprise, the so-called 'amnesiac' was smirking slightly. Ron prepared to demand answers as to why he was so smug, but he got one in just two words.

"You're screwed."

* * *

For sure, this 'Dave' boy was an odd one.

After Harry had been cleaned up and the misconception cleared - of course, it was their fault, and not the fault of the one who broke Harry's nose - Dave had been properly introduced as such. His clothes were replaced in favor of some of Ron's extras, and Hermione had found the whole thing was fairly funny. After all, Ron was fuming to be near him, let alone share clothes. He had since spent time around the house doing... nothing. Most of his time was spent sitting around, looking up at the ceiling. Whatever spot he was gazing at was indecipherable behind his sunglasses, and time and time again Hermione found herself wondering why he wore them.

Walburga Black's portrait had began its screaming once, as nobody warned Dave of the portrait's loud tendencies. Ron had, apparently, been walking behind him when it happened.

"FILTHY MUDBLOODED TRASH, DISGRACING MY BEAUTIFUL HOUSE, THE BLACK FAMILY HAS NO PLACE FOR MUDBLOODS AND BLOOD TRAITORS! HOW DARE YOU TRESPASS THROUGH THESE HALLS!" Dave had jumped back, a sword appearing from nothing and landing neatly in his palm like it was instinctual. The way Ron had described it, it seemed like quite the spectacle.

He had slashed forward with astounding skill and speed, and the curtains which usually hid Mrs. Black (but were then pushed to the side) were in tatters within seconds.

Hermione barely believed this part, but apparently his sword - nothing special about it, Ron had said, just a slightly curved blade with a black handle - had even sliced through a bit of the painting.

She had dismissed it as Ron exaggerating the story, as he did often, until she walked past and saw the slight rip of the canvas.

Hermione was in shock. It had a spell to make it invulnerable and indestructable... Didn't it?

Mrs. Black's portrait hadn't spoken a word since it had happened a week earlier, so it must have been either impressive, or slightly traumatic. Hermione had a hunch that it was both. She was fairly pleased that the annoying, racist portrait had finally shut up, though, and she could say that without a trace of guilt.

It left even more questions. Where did he learn to wield a sword with such skill? Who taught him? How did he make a rip in the canvas? How did it appear from thin air?

Of course, Moody planned on interrogating the kid the first chance he got. Hermione had seen how irritated the old Auror got around Dave, and wondered briefly what had happened between them. But for now, Mrs. Weasley wouldn't let him touch Dave. She was convinced that he needed more time to heal from his wounds.

Hermione felt kind of bad for thinking this, but she was actually looking forward to it, to a certain degree. It could answer some of her questions, after all. And with the twins' Extendable Ears, they could listen in on the conversation. Perhaps she and her friends would get answers. But until then, they were left to guess.

Honestly, this kid was strange, and that was coming from a witch.

* * *

**Hey, I'm curious. Leave some suggestions for god tiers for the HP characters in reviews! I want to see what you think. It won't affect the story, but I'd like to talk to my readers! :)**

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**Thank you so much for reading! Love you guys!**


	4. Dave: Read a book, be mysterious

Since I forgot to do it earlier, DISCLAIMER! I DO NOT OWN THE RIGHTS TO HOMESTUCK OR HARRY POTTER!

* * *

Chapter 4 - Dave: Read a book, be mysterious.

* * *

It had been Tonks who had first gotten him to open up a bit.

He had been reading a book in the library, a look of strange concentration on his face, like he was reading the words but not truly understanding them. Of course, this was only a guess. He had refused to take off his 'shades,' and so it was somewhat difficult to tell what he was thinking or feeling. Add that to how he was as stoic and unflinchingly expressionless as a brick wall, and Dave was... Difficult, at the least, to tell the intentions of. But his creased face and eyebrows knit in confusion were telling enough.

Tonks had been sitting in another armchair, discreetly watching for any strange behavior. The Order had given her the job of making sure he didn't do anything strange, and she was determined to do well on her mission. But she wasn't as easily entertained as others. In an attempt to keep her from getting too bored. she tried to see the title of the book he was reading. A few minutes proved that it was futile. It was too far away, and the tome's overwhelming amount of black and green made the title but a white blur. After about five minutes of watching him reading in absolute silence, of which was only broken by the occasional page turn and sound of paper being moved, she was incredibly bored. And so she made a decision.

Approaching him as one might a wild animal, she squatted down next to the chair. His shoulders stiffened a bit, showing her that he knew she was there, but he continued to read. Ignoring her, huh? The witch frowned. _So he's going to play _that _game, huh. Well, two can play at that, Mr. Dave._

Nymphadora told herself that she was going to talk to him in a few minutes, but first she was intrigued as to the book's contents. She began reading at a random place in the middle of a paragraph.

"-ragged guttersnipe so oft-harvested by the common Obscenity, those vituperative little beggars with hearts to corrupt as dropped bananas-" _Okay that's it I'm not reading this any more. _Tonks could understand the confused expression now, as she now had a matching one. Her bubblegum pink hair turned a shade of green with her bafflement. Now was probably a decent time to initiate conversation, before her brain melted.

"Sup." Well, he had beat her to it. Her hair turned a bright red in embarrassment. _Really, I should learn how to control that better,_ Tonks thought idly. _It could be a problem if my hair is constantly telling my emotions. _Apparently, Dave noticed the shift in color too.

"Cool hair trick. What's with that," he asked, and she was honestly surprised of his ability to ask questions while keeping the same deadpan tone and expression. He slapped the book shut with both hands, and it lay inconspicuously on his lap. _Complacency of the Learned,_ the cover said, white letters jumping out against the black background. A chessboard spread across the lower half of it, and a figure cloaked in green with a red bow tie held a wand over it. Two chess pieces stood on the board, and on the bottom of the cover, two elegantly written words flowed across the hard binding.

_R. Lalonde._

* * *

Dave's hands were shaking, and he couldn't stop it.

Something about this book was familiar. Too familiar. The girl with the rainbow hair - Tanks, was it? He would have to commend her for having such a badass name sometime - was squatting beside him, and he realized that this sort of behavior would make her suspicious. And Dave didn't know what was happening, but he had a feeling that he'd have to blend in as much as he possibly could.

Well, blend in could be too loose of a term with _these _freaks of nature.

He stilled his hands and greeted the woman. He needed a distraction from this book. Something in the back of his memory was stirring, a slight breach in the emptiness of his subconscious. A crack in the barrier which could easily create a storm. And Dave was truly terrified of what might be hiding there. Everything about this book was simple, and he found that he remembered each and every word even before reading it.

_Stop thinking. Talk about something else. Just stop thinking. _He looked to his companion's shifting hair colors. Well, if that wasn't a potential conversation topic. Tanks was happy to explain the nature of a 'metamorphagus.'

And so, he slipped into an autopilot conversation with this girl. All the while, he wondered why the act of concealment and lying was so familiar to him.

* * *

Ron had been meandering through the halls, as there was nothing else to do. Sure, he could talk to Harry, but his friend was a bit too angsty for his tastes. Harry was great and all, but sometimes he needed to tone down the dramatics a notch. And Hermione wasn't an option, either; She had been yelling at him for not having any summer homework done yet. Of course he knew she cared, but it bothered him that she felt the need to mother him. He could take care of himself! Sometimes he felt that she didn't see him as an equal.

He sighed. _Now I sound like Harry, even to myself, _he thought, snorting a bit at the observation.

Ron continued to walk.

His thoughts drifted aimlessly from topic to topic, and his wondering turned to the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. His abstract musing took a darker turn when he pondered the recurring pattern with teachers of that particular subject, particularly their constant disappearance or death after but one year of teaching at Hogwarts. .

_I wonder if people will believe Harry about the rise of He Wh- Voldemort, _he chided himself. Habits were hard to break, even in his subconscious. It was still difficult to refer to the being he had feared all his life by their name, and not as a simple taboo. Ron was still having difficulty realizing that the whispers that silenced him as a child from asking about Voldemort were not just a few superstitions left over from a time of terror. No, the Dark Lord was very much real, and very much alive.

A slight shudder went down the boy's back. He decided to stop that train of thought right there.

Taking a left turn toward the library, he heard a snort of laughter emanating out from the doorway. His curiosity piqued, wondering what was so funny. Deciding he had nothing better to do, he turned once more and entered the library, where more giggles were leaking out.

Poking his head in, he announced himself. "Hey, what's going on in h-" Ron's sentence was immediately cut off as he saw the scene, and he was barely able to comprehend it.

That Dave kid was sitting on one of the larger couches with Tonks, and they were _talking._

And Merlin's underwear, the insufferable prick was smiling. _I didn't think he had it in him,_ Ron thought dryly.

On second glance, Tonks' skin was purple and she had bright orange spiky hair, so that could explain some of it. Perhaps she had been showing him some of her shapeshifting?

But whatever. Ron decided in that moment to not get into whatever conversation they were having.

* * *

The interrogation was beginning.

Though it had taken a while to force the Veritaserum down Dave's throat, after a while Mad Eye finally managed to hold him down and drip one small drop down his throat. Sirius Black was against using such brutal tactics on such a young boy, who hadn't even really done anything wrong, unless ruining the carpets with his blood counted. But alas, he could do nothing but watch.

The Order had most certainly taken no chances. Dave was tied to a chair with several binding spells, and was only able to move his head and face. The ex-con definitely thought it was a bit overboard, but he could not deter them from this decision.

"So, how's this gonna go down, then? You gonna tickle me with a fucking feather until I talk about shit I don't even know?" Though Dave's words were the very essence of a teenager, his tone was anything but.

"And while you're at it, mind telling me why you just dumped fucking poison down my throat?" Sirius cringed at his language, but Alastor didn't seem fazed in the slightest. The former Auror even smiled a bit.

"To make you talk, kid."

"Good luck with that. I plan on keeping my silence." The Animagus sighed. A vow of silence wouldn't last for long when under the effects of this particular potion.

"What's your name?" Moody loomed in front of the kid, his figure creating a shadow over Dave. While others might have been scared, he most certainly wasn't.

His reply was instantaneous. "Dave Strider. Wait, why did I..." A look of confusion passed over his face, and Black grimaced. _That's Veritaserum for you. _He felt this kid's pain; The potion forced honesty out of you, whether you wanted to say something truthful or not. Sirius himself had been investigated under it several times, and it was never pleasant.

The interrogation continued with more simple questions, though it seemed many couldn't be answered.

"Why are you here?" One of the Order yelled out.

"I don't know," Dave had replied, his voice monotonous as usual.

"Do you truly not remember anything?"

"No, I remember my name, smartass." _Even Veritaserum can't make him not a teenager,_ Sirius thought, smirking a bit at the appalled expressions of some of the Order.

"Are you in league with L-Lord Voldemort?"

"No, I'm not. I don't know who that is."

Several more (seemingly useless) questions were asked. About twenty minutes after the beginning of the interrogation, there had been no real progress. Sirius watched in shock as Tonks shoved forward through the group, with a determined look on her face.

"Dave, I have a question," she said, and her voice projected through the whole room. There was a light quiver in it, though.

"Why were you covered in blood when you arrived here?"

There was silence.

His mouth opened the slightest, and from the sideways view that Sirius had of the kid, he could swear that Dave's eyes widened a fraction behind his shades. The Strider began to shake minimally, though it was so minuscule you wouldn't be sure if you saw it. It was in that moment that Sirius, as well as the rest of the room, realized that this 'threat' was soaked in his own blood for a reason. And perhaps he was the victim of whatever had happened.

A strangled gasp came out of the blonde's mouth. The rest of the room leaned forward a bit.

After that, everything seemed to happen all at once.

Sirius remembered Dave's expression turning from one of confusion and loss to one of resolve. His mouth straightened into a flat line, then opened once more.

Someone screamed as the boy bit down on his tongue so hard that blood flew a yard away from his mouth.

People were rushing toward him, and it was a massive blur of activity after that. But Sirius could've sworn that he saw the kid smiling, blood dripping from his lips like water trickling down a stream in the springtime.

And suddenly, Sirius Black knew that he would never fully understand the boy who would rather bite his own tongue off than talk about what happened to him.

_I suppose Dave Strider kept his vow of silence after all._

* * *

**WELL HOT DAMN, I'M ALIVE.**

**Sorry for disappearing for nearly a month! Real life gave me a bitch slap for procrastinating, but here's a new chapter! And hey, we broke 2,000 words! I think that's a record for me. ****Anyways, I tried to pack as much into this chapter as I could. I hope you enjoyed (I know I had fun writing it)! Thank you so much for follows, favorites and reviews. Every one is so appreciated!**

**Have a great day! Thanks for reading! BTW YES, THIS IS AUDACES FORTUNA IUVAT BUT THE NAME IS CHANGED NOW IM SORRY FOR CONFUSING YALL LOL I SUCK**


	5. Dave: Receive note(s)

Chapter 5 - Dave: Receive note(s).

* * *

Harry knew there was something off about the trial.

Ignoring the bright pink hag who wouldn't stop staring at him in disgust the whole time, there was the matter of the 'spike of pure magical energy' that Fudge had ranted and raved about. Of course, he blamed Harry for it. But no matter how much he racked his mind, there was nowhere he could place it.

_I never performed any magic at the Dursleys' other than that patronus, never mind anything so powerful... What could it have been?_

Even stranger, Cornelius had admitted that it was apparently very advanced teleportation magic which took various measures (which were left unspecified) to trace even bare minimums on it. They could only tell it was in England, and everything else was fuzzy. It seemed that the burst of magical power had left traces of raw energy all over Magical Britain. Perhaps it could explain why his patronus seemed even more powerful than usual when he fought off all the Dementors. He'd dismissed it as a stroke of luck at the time, but now he wasn't so sure.

Nevertheless, Dumbledore had jumped to his defense, and so the trial ended rather mildly.

The words of one Cornelius Fudge didn't cease to confuse him, though.

* * *

Despite how badass it may have looked, Dave kind of regretted nearly biting his tongue off.

Although it had healed quickly - unnaturally quickly, actually, but he ignored that because there was no way in hell he was about to believe in 'magic'. There was a part of him that just refused to accept its existence, and for some reason, Dave felt almost bitter that the miracle cure for everything and anything had always been just a few dumb Latin words and some stick waving away - his mouth still hurt like hell.

The interrogation had served a good purpose, though. It had some profound effects on his relationship with the other people in the house.

For one thing, everyone seemed to have figured out that no, Dave wasn't about to go insane and try to kill everyone, and yes, he didn't work for this 'Moldyshorts' guy, whoever he was. He was particularly intent on finding out who this guy was. Everyone seemed to both hate and fear him, which particularly caught his interest. With a name like Moldyshorts, how could he possibly be scary in any way? Dave could appreciate the irony, though.

Another perk was that it seemed that he had proven himself to a degree. The people in Grimmauld Place, as he had learned what it was called, seemed to be wary around him. Though it was still annoying as hell, it was a definite improvement from formerly being held at a distance, like even glancing at him would cause someone to spontaneously combust or something equally stupid.

The best part was that the truth serum seemed to force the truth out of him, memory loss or not. Now he had a last name (Strider. He liked the sound of it, most definitely, and it felt natural to say it aloud,) to go by, and he could slightly remember the events that had come before his arrival.

The Order of the Phoenix, who were very easy to gain information from, like their name, by some simple eavesdropping, obviously thought that Dave knew full well what had happened to him. And he indeed remembered flashes. He couldn't trust himself if he was being fully honest, though, and something in his subconscious was screaming at him to shut the fuck up and not say a word about it.

But that was beyond the point. For now, he had only one question that was prominent to him.

_Why the fuck is there an owl on my head._

* * *

Hermione Granger was definitely minding her own business when she walked into one of the many rooms which Dave Strider just so happened to inhabit.

She and Ron, Harry, Ginny and the twins had only been able to hear very faintly the proceedings of the interrogation, but after hearing the loud shouts resulting from one question, which they couldn't make out, the six of them could quite clearly see the blood hastily being cleaned up. And going by the fact that Dave had been talking even _less _than the bare minimum 'yes,' 'no,' and sarcastic responses that he was known for, something was quite obviously up.

Though she didn't like to boast about it, Hermione was intelligent, and she put together a (tentative) answer to the question that had been plaguing them. Namely, _What the hell happened in there?_

From what little facts they could gather, they assumed that Dave was asked a question he didn't want to answer, so he physically prevented himself from doing so. Nevertheless, it had certainly piqued her interest. What needed to be kept secret so bad that he would go so far as to harm himself to stay silent?

But all interests aside, Hermione was worried for Dave. He seemed like he truly meant no harm. He hadn't done anything to harm anyone yet, excluding the whole event with the portrait of Mrs. Black. Though she didn't like to say it aloud, the young witch was secretly grateful that the painting had finally shut up for once.

On top of that, Harry was too concerned with himself to care about others at the moment. Hermione loved him as a best friend, but he was being particularly irritating and... _angsty_ recently. She knew he was rightfully annoyed, but he didn't have to drag it on as long as he was! She honestly wanted to slap some sense into the Boy-Who-Lived sometimes, but she figured he'd get over it soon. Hopefully.

Ron, on the other hand, didn't _want_ to care about him. Apparently, he was still licking the wounds to his pride from that confrontation with Dave. Yes, the time they sneaked into his room in the dead of night was obviously a bad move. She certainly wasn't proud of it, and Hermione knew that what they did was most certainly wrong on their part. Dave's actions were fairly justified. But Ron was nothing if not stubborn in his beliefs. And currently, his belief was that Dave Strider was a narcissistic, no-good asshole.

It was definitely a tense subject to breach in conversation with them. But that didn't matter, because Hermione Granger was showing her true Gryffindor spirit and braving a conversation with Dave.

"Hello," she had said simply, sitting across from him at the kitchen table. She was going to start off basic. It was the only way she could possibly hold a conversation with him without doing _something _wrong.

"Sorry, Hermione, but I'm a bit occupied," he said. At first, she was pretty satisfied that he knew her name. It was then that she noticed something fairly odd.

"Namely, with the big fucking owl on my head. Can we talk another time?"

Said owl didn't seem like it was leaving any time soon. It preened its tawny feathers in utter disinterest before looking up and looking around. It seemed to be unimpressed with its gloomy surroundings, and the witch could hardly blame it. Hermione noticed that there were not three letters clutched inside its talons. No, rather, there were four. A conclusion began to form in her mind, prodding in the back of her mind, but she dismissed the notion as silly. There was no way...

She carefully approached it, unsure of how it would react to her. Animals and interaction with them had never been her strong point, as her 'experience' was mostly limited to feeding a narcissistic asshole of a cat. Occasionally, she petted Hedwig when the snowy owl delivered her mail, but that was it. Though her grade in Care of Magical Creatures was definitely passing, there were quite certainly many who achieved higher marks in the subject.

While Hermione approached the boy and the bird, who was now glancing around the room in seeming boredom, she noted three facts.

1\. The owl was actually a barn owl. She could tell by the heart shaped face, as well as the brown feathers surrounding it.

2\. Dave's hair was much lighter than she had thought on first glance. It was an incredibly pale blonde, almost exactly like Draco Malfoy's hair, but with slightly darker shades in it, like the color of corn silk. She wondered if he had dyed it that way, because she knew some Muggles dyed their hair vibrant shades of blonde.

3\. The bird's talons were not perched on top of his hair like she had earlier thought, but its claws were actually tangled into his hair.

Hermione fumbled as she awkwardly attempted to untangle the knot of hair, claws and parchment. Her hands, usually nimble, shook slightly, and her face was heated and bright red. _Why am I so flustered? _(She admitted to herself that yes, Dave Strider was very attractive. But she most certainly did not have romantic interest in him, Hermione argued to herself.)

"If you're done fondling my hair, I'd really appreciate if you stepped off." And there was the reason that she most definitely would not ever hold romantic interest in him, his trademark sarcasm. Thankfully, at that time she had finished untangling the bird, and the barn owl quickly hopped down from its perch and onto the table.

"I wasn't- I was getting a bird out of your hair! You could at least be a bit thankful," she huffed in exasperation, hating the fact that her face was still burning red.

"Thanks, I guess," he said flippantly, and his head inclined in the slightest nod. Despite his rude demeanor, she knew that he was acknowledging her, and despite herself felt a surge of pride.

Dave's head turned downward - His sunglasses were very irritating, since she could never tell where he was looking and only could guess - toward the four letters on the table. Hermione turned her head as well.

It seemed that the booklists had arrived for Harry, Ron and herself, but what was the fourth letter?

Before she realized it, Dave had reached for the letter and was looking at it, his eyebrows slightly raised in confusion. Even his sunglasses couldn't mask the expression of surprise on his face.

"What's the matter?" Hermione asked, concern clear in her voice. She winced slightly as he tore open the envelope, revealing three pieces of paper inside. He discarded the piece of the envelope he tore, and it landed in front of the witch. _Is that the Hogwarts seal? _She wondered numbly as she saw the familiar insignia on the half torn paper.

Her suspicions were confirmed as he took out the first paper and began to read.

"Dear Mr Strider, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he read aloud, a frown on his face. He looked up at Hermione, who no doubt was gaping by now.

"Do you have any clue what the fuck this means?" Dave questioned her, and for once she had no idea. Theories and ideas buzzed around her head, but none made enough sense to justify why Dave, of all people, was accepted to _Hogwarts._

The second letter was a booklist of all necessary supplies of fifth year. Hermione supposed that answered the question of his age. So he was around fifteen or sixteen.

The third, unread note was written in elegant, jade green ink with long script letters on paper, rather than parchment. It was folded, and on the top said '_To Be Read In The Presence Of The Order Of The Phoenix'._

Hermione promptly gathered the Order.

* * *

Dave stood in the middle of the living room, letter in hand. The Order's members looked at him expectantly, and so he began to read.

"To whom it may concern," he read aloud.

"First, if I may, I will assure you that the Order of the Phoenix's security has not been breached by my sending of this letter. Your leader, one Mister Albus Dumbledore, is well aware of the presence of both myself and this letter, and approves of its existence. With that cleared up, I will begin.

"My name is Kanaya Maryam, and I assure you that I and my friends mean no harm. My friend, Dave Strider, is presumably with you now as you read this note. His arrival to your headquarters, 12 Grimmauld Place if my sources are correct, may have been slightly jarring, and I personally apologize for that." At this Dave internally snorted; 'Slightly jarring' didn't begin to describe it. Of course, he didn't snort out loud, as that would be the most uncool thing he could ever do.

"It was the only way to safely transport myself and my companions to your realm." _This realm? What's this chick saying? _"Nevertheless, there is an important point I must make. My friends and myself are all in hiding from a terrible enemy, greater than you can imagine." At this, Dave trailed off a bit. What great enemy? He could vaguely remember fighting someone, no, two somethings, but were those the great evils that this 'Kanaya' was describing?

He shook the thoughts from his head, and continued to read. "His reign of terror knows no bounds, even that of the dead. Therefore, we have made a pact with Mister Dumbledore; The Order will provide protection for us from our enemy, and we will in return provide protection for your school, Hogwarts." Dave couldn't even comprehend the stupidity of that name.

"Though we cannot make it to your school yet, we have sent Dave in advance in order to serve this role. Once more, I apologize for any inconveniences, and I await your hospitality. Signed, Kanaya Maryam."

Absolute silence followed. Then, chaos broke out as what seemed like a million people began asking questions simultaneously.

"Who is 'Kanaya'? Do you know her?"

"What did she mean, even that of the dead?"

"Why are you, of all people, going to protect Hogwarts?"

Dave couldn't even process half of the inquiries as he just mulled over what he had just learned.

There were other people who knew him. Who, apparently, _he_ knew. And they were running from someone who, judging by what the letter said, was insanely powerful. Most of all, Dave actually had a purpose to be here, in this house full of insane, magical freaks.

He knew right then that there was no way he was going to rely on these people, this 'Kanaya,' for answers. No. In that moment, Dave Strider was completely and totally determined that he would discover what had happened to him independently.

After all, it would be very anticlimatic if everything were served to him on a silver platter and his struggles were forgotten.

_I'm a real stubborn douchebag, _he thought with a barely perceivable shake of the head and a minuscule smile.

* * *

The shock of Ron and Hermione getting Prefect positions, with Harry left out, was slightly dulled when compared to the shock of Harry and Ron when Hermione revealed to them that Dave would be going to Hogwarts with them.

It was certainly going to be a long year.

* * *

**AN: ****So I noticed something the other day. All the English characters in this fic speak like Americans. In order to keep from being offensive on accident, all the English people now have American speech patterns. And look, 2500 words! This is definitely an accomplishment for me. Speaking of accomplishments: holy shit 15 reviews in one chapter. That's awesome! I was so happy to see all that great feedback. It seems you guys like cliffhangers... i will be sure to use that knowledge in the future. :)**

**Anyways, this chapter was really fun to write. Also, h****ere's the letter in full, Kanaya's typing quirk and all:**

To Whom It May Concern,

First, I May Assure You That The Order Of The Phoenix's Security Has Not Been Breached By My Sending Of This Letter. Your Leader, One Mister Albus Dumbledore, Is Well Aware Of The Presence Of Both Myself And This Letter, And Approves Of Its Existence. With That Cleared Up, I Will Begin.

My Name Is Kanaya Maryam, And I Assure You That I And My Friends Mean No Harm. My Friend, Dave Strider, Is Presumably With You Now As You Read This Note. His Arrival To Your Headquarters, 12 Grimmauld Place If My Sources Are Correct, May Have Been Slightly Jarring, And I Personally Apologize For That. It Was The Only Way To Safely Transport Myself And My Companions To Your Realm. Nevertheless, There Is An Important Point I Must Make. My Friends And Myself Are All In Hiding From A Terrible Enemy, Greater Than You Can Imagine. His Reign Of Terror Knows No Bounds, Even That Of The Dead. Therefore, We Have Made A Pact With Mister Dumbledore; The Order Will Provide Safety For Us From Our Enemy, And We Will In Return Provide Protection For Your School, 'Hogwarts'.

Though We Cannot Make It To Your School Yet, We Have Sent Dave In Advance In Order To Serve This Role. Once More, I Apologize For Any Inconveniences, And I Await Your Hospitality.

**Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Leave them in the reviews! And have a lovely day. :)**


	6. Dave: Be a shitty pet owner

Chapter 6 - Dave: Be a shitty pet owner.

* * *

In an empty, dark room, all was still.

Scattered about were knick-knacks which had all stopped their seemingly unceasing movements. The only relief from the slightly eerie stillness was the rise and fall of a bird's chest. Its red and gold plumage seemed to give off a faint light which faded when it reached too far outside its metallic cage, like looking into a fireplace in the wintertime. The flickering figure illuminated several objects scattered about: An ink vial, a quill, a leather bound book, and a note written on what was probably the only piece of paper among all the parchment in the whole castle.

Suddenly, the bird's eyes opened.

It easily flew out the opened door of its cage, and perched upon the desk of its master. The red glowing of its feathers suddenly burst out into a full-blown fire, exploding heat into the formerly cool office. The flames seemed not to touch anything but the bird, and they danced upon its skin with care, like they were disregarding their nature entirely and trying not to burn the bird to a crisp.

Then, as soon as they began, the flames ceased to exist, and receded back into a warm glow.

Nothing seemed to have changed, and even the mahogany surface of the desk was not marred in the slightest. But if one was to look closely, they might have noticed yet another sheet of paper nestled in the phoenix's claws, with flowing, jade green handwriting on top of it. It was folded carefully, and the slight creases did little to ruin the handwriting sprawling on top.

The letter, for it could obviously be nothing else, read, _'Addressed To Mr. Albus Dumbledore.'_

And as the door opened to let in the recipient of the letter, the phoenix dropped it onto the desk and flew back into its cage, wondering how his master would take the mysterious arrival of yet another letter.

* * *

Dave was thinking about food when he heard a scream.

He'd heard from the redhead - Dave knew his name, but he couldn't be bothered to say it - that his mom was going to make a grand, home-cooked meal in celebration of... something. It had to do with something for their school, Pigfarts or whatever other shitty name it had, but he didn't care enough to ask. By the time Ron started bragging about whatever shit he'd done right, the Strider had lost interest, and instead immersed himself fully into the wonderful thought of more food. For some reason, he felt that home cooking was a foreign subject to him, and so he was definitely enjoying the chance to wolf down whatever was served to him on a literal fucking silver platter. Molly Weasley - it was one name he wasn't bound to forget, considering their original confrontation - thought he was scrawny and underfed, and intended to make him 'a moderate weight,' which probably meant seven metric tons. Harry had confided to him that she thought everyone was underweight, though Dave was secretly satisfied with the attention he was garnering. He'd never say all that aloud, though. That would be hella lame.

A cry shattered his thoughts, followed by a loud, choked sob. The tight, enclosed space of Dave's temporary 'bedroom' only made the distressed cry louder.

Out of instinct alone, a sword dropped from seemingly nothing and was gripped tightly in his palms. (From what Dave remembered, the storage system was called a sylladex, and his weapons were stored in the strife specibus. He was alarmed to find out from Tanks that the wizards had nothing even remotely resembling it, but he decided it would probably be an advantage in a fight.) He stepped out into the hallway, quickly creeping up to the room the sobs were echoing from.

He cautiously slid the door open, even though every one of his instincts, of his nerves were screaming bloody murder at him to run, run, but he couldn't because someone was in there and he could help.

Dave stepped into the room, and the (familiar, much too familiar for his liking) stench of blood, musty, coppery blood slapped him in the face.

Molly was sobbing in the corner in the face of a pile of dead bodies, who Dave identified as the redhead, the black-haired angsty kid, and the twins, among other people with similarly colored hair. His mind tried to process it, because no, he was talking to those people only a few minutes ago, and how could they be dead, and why was his sense of surprise at finding their dead bodies so dull?

As he was running over to the sobbing woman (_no, he wasn't running, he wasn't scared wasn't scared wasn't scared at all,_) the dead bodies shimmered.

"What the fuck...?" A loud crack resounded throughout the small room, and he was standing protectively over his caretaker, grasping a purely white sword (_Caledfwlch,_ his subconscious whispered, _it's named Caledfwlch,_) and preparing for the worst.

He wasn't prepared.

An explosion of dust clouded his vision, though his shades protected him from it getting into his eyes. As he peered into the dust, his head whipped to the side, a stinging sensation on his left cheek as someone slapped him in the face.

"You LEFT me to die!" a voice screamed, and he faced back forward as his cheek bled because _no way, it couldn't be,_ but it was, because a girl (_Jade, Jade Harley, she's not just a girl, she's one of your best friends and you failed her,_) was staring at him, angry tears streaming down her gray face (_grimbark, grimbark, she's grimbark and you couldn't stop it,_) and blood stains soiling her flowing black dress. Her gray dog ears were pricked straight up, and oh shit, she saw Dave as a threat, _because that's all I've ever been, I've only ever hurt her, oh shit oh shit oh shit._ The black energy which had flowed from her suddenly stopped, and her skin regained its normal beautiful tan. Dave was relieved for only a second, before seeing the look on her face.

"Why couldn't you save me, Dave?" and now her angered tone was distressed, and somehow that was even worse, because she was scared of Dave. Her eyes had become a pale, milky white, and her jade green irises had disappeared, and _she was dead and he knew it and he couldn't help her, couldn't save her because he wasn't good enough._

"Oh god, I'm sor-" he couldn't finish because she was backing up, utter terror on her face, and suddenly the loud crack resounded about again, and this time it was a pale boy in a blue outfit with a long windsock hood stretched out behind him. And he remembered this boy, this boy named John Egbert, and where he would usually have a bucktoothed grin and sparkling blue eyes he was looking at Dave in disgust, his lips turned downward and a hard look on his face. But that had to be wrong, because John was almost incapable of hating anyone, much less Dave, because they were best friends forever and he would never do that, _would he?_

"I trusted you," John said blankly, but it wasn't John, _couldn't_ be John, because John would never blame him, and John would understand. But at the same time, it was too much like him, in the way that he'd totally detach himself from his surroundings when he was totally devastated.

"I thought you could protect them," the Heir whispered, a single tear falling from his endlessly blue eyes, and a blossoming flower of blood spread outwards from his chest, staining his outfit a brilliant purple. Dave couldn't even stand anymore, much less hide the look of utter horror on his face. The sword clattered out of his hands, and he stared up from where he sat on his knees to where his (_former_, he told himself, _you don't deserve John,_) best bro stood. And suddenly John was reaching forward and taking off his shades, but Dave couldn't even move to grab them, because he deserved this, he deserved all the pain he had put on them, and he sure as hell didn't deserve his friends in a million years.

"I'm sorry," Dave gasped, but he knew it wasn't enough, would never be enough. His voice shook with emotion, emotion he hadn't felt (_hadn't allowed himself to feel,_ his traitorous subconscious whispered) for years. A slight bit of his Texan accent was beginning to show through, and he hated that accent but right now he didn't care, didn't care at all.

John stared at Dave's exposed, blood red irises before sneering and throwing his shades aside, not caring where they ended up. Dave could only watch as they slammed against the wall, the plastic of the lenses cracking just a bit on the right lens, and_ oh god, he deserved this._

As Dave watched his most prized possession lie discarded and broken in the corner, something inside him shattered.

"Disgusting," John snarled, and he moved forward, a giant hammer materializing into his hands. As he raised it over Dave's head, he looked down at his best friend, and smiled sickeningly.

The hammer began to move down, and Dave stared straight into it, feeling utter terror running through his veins as each of his worst nightmares came to life.

"R-Riddikulus," a voice from behind yelled shakily, and a noise like a whip's crack resounded throughout the air as John's hammer suddenly became a box of Betty Crocker cake mix. He was throwing it away from himself and shrieking bloody murder before another cloud of dust rose and John - the illusion, whatever the hell that was - disappeared. Dave placed a hand on his sword, absentmindedly captchaloguing it before shakily standing, retrieving his shades, and turning around. He clumsily pushed them onto his face.

In the doorway, utter shock across their faces, stood Lupin, Sirius and Harry.

As he tried to rush past them, Lupin laid a hand on his shoulder. Futilely, Dave tried to push past.

"Are you alright, Dave?"

He stopped for a moment, before looking back at Lupin with an attempted glare that revealed that no, he wasn't alright, he was so far from alright that he could barely ever remember what being 'alright' felt like.

"I... I'm fine."

Dave ran past him, not stopping to check if Molly was okay. He ran into his room, closing the door quietly with a tiny click as the lock slid into place. He sat down on his bed heavily, it only serving as a reminder that he didn't belong there.

It took him a few minutes before he realized he was crying.

* * *

"Dave? Are you in there?" Harry called through the (closed, locked, probably braced) door. He then mentally facepalmed. Of _course_ Dave was in there. He hadn't come out for four days. He expected (hoped for) a snarky reply, but the silence he received was worse.

"Well, anyways, I, uh... I brought you some dinner. It's outside your door, if you want to grab it. Um, bye, then," Harry called, placing down the steaming plate beside another cold plate from the afternoon's lunch. He picked it up, seeing it wasn't touched. He was about to leave with a sigh before he stopped himself.

"And, Dave? If you need any help with anything, um, you can just ask Ron, Hermione and I, and we'd be glad to help. Uh, that's all, yeah." He left, berating himself slightly for his awkward tone of voice, though it definitely was hard to talk through a door to someone who probably wasn't even listening.

Then again, Harry had seen some of Dave's boggart, and he couldn't blame him. The boggart hadn't even looked like it was done with Dave's fears when Lupin had stopped it.

As he was walking away through the halls, he heard a faint noise which could easily be mistaken as something else. But Harry was able to understand what Dave had said.

"Thanks, man."

* * *

Dave silently cursed Harry for looking so much like John and Jade. It was making him soft.

* * *

The day of the annual trip to Diagon Alley had finally arrived, and Hermione found herself pondering how good of an idea the whole thing was.

Sirius had demanded he be taken with them, anxious to go outside for once. But there was a good reason he was confined to his old family house. People didn't just forget the face of someone who (supposedly) had murdered his best friends. He'd shifted to dog form, though, so it was fine for him to be out for a little while. They hoped.

Dave had finally come out of his room on the fifth day, but he'd been quieter than normal. He was wearing dark gray sweatpants with a white and red baseball shirt, his typical shades on his face, though Hermione noticed the large crack in the corner. After their brief transport (Dumbledore's phoenix truly was fascinating, and great for getting around unnoticed by the Ministry) to the Leaky Cauldron, he finally spoke.

"So, the basis of your whole magical community-" the words 'magical community' had air quotes around them, because most everything Dave did was packaged with Strider brand sarcasm- "is in a bar? That's kinda disappointing. Cool, I've gotta admit, but disappointing." He gestured around his desolate surroundings, as if he needed any emphasis on his point. The creaky lights and shady patrons of the pub didn't disprove his point.

For someone who had supposedly never heard of magic before, or at least the wand-waving sort, he was fairly unimpressed by everything he'd seen so far. She officially made it her goal to surprise him, somehow. That would be quite the day, that Dave Strider showed emotion beyond his typical deadpan and snark.

"Actually, the Leaky Cauldron-" Hermione's soon-to-be spiel on the history of the Leaky Cauldron was interrupted by a snicker from Dave. "What?"

"You named it 'The Leaky Cauldron'?" the Strider barely managed to get out, before snickering again. "Oh god, forget me saying it was cool! That's fucking hilarious," he breathed out, before finally getting a hold of himself.

"Y-you were saying?" He asked, still smiling a bit. Hermione couldn't help but agree with him, no matter how much she didn't want to - as a muggleborn, she had also thought the name was ridiculous, as she did a lot of wizarding ideas in general.

She didn't say that aloud, though. "Language," she warned sharply. Ron and Harry were behind her, having their own conversation as Sirius padded in the back, occasionally stopping to sniff a stool. Dave swore a lot more than other people, and a lot more casually as well. She really didn't need her friends to start picking up the habit as well; It was annoying enough that Ron had made 'bloody hell' into something of a catchphrase.

"Anyways," she began, continuing on with her original train of thought, "the Leaky Cauldron is a cover for the entrance to Diagon Alley."

"Since we can't have muggles walking in for obvious reasons-" there was another small snort (probably about the term 'muggles' rather than her attempt at sarcasm), which she promptly ignored, "a spell which makes muggles ignore this building as a whole has been cast. And even if it were not to work, a muggle would just see a pub with some oddly dressed residents."

He nodded. "Makes sense, actually. Or at least as much sense as something can make when dealing with magic. So where's the real entrance?" She let herself feel a brief moment of satisfaction as she managed to get his approval (though slight) on something. She got the feeling he was more impressed than he let on, but nonetheless deepened her vow to surprise him in some fashion. She'd always been an overachiever.

Unlike Ron, Hermione liked to think she was a good judge of character beyond first impressions. And she thought Dave seemed like an honestly nice guy, though strange, based on what Harry had told him about how he had tried to help Mrs. Weasley. Hermione didn't know him well - hell, she barely knew him at all - but she felt as if she could trust Dave.

Then again, she'd trusted the wrong sort of people before. She could make that mistake again.

Hermione shook the thoughts from her mind. Now definitely wasn't the time.

"Well, if you go beyond this bar..." she led the group to the back of the pub, tapping Ron and Harry on their shoulders to get their attention.

Finally, they faced it.

"...It's a brick wall," Dave deadpanned.

"Like the mighty phoenix, not everything is as simple as it appears to be,"Harry said in his best Dumbledore impression, which was actually pretty awful. Hermione snickered a bit at his attempt.

"I'll go get someone who can open the doorway," Ron said to them as he ventured back into the pub, only to emerge a second later with someone else.

The man by Ron's side was short, bald, and generally odd looking, with his hunchback and oddly disproportionate grin not helping his appearance any.

"This is Tom," Ron introduced, clearly berating himself for his choice of guide. "He'll help us in." Tom smiled at them, obviously intending to ease their worries and failing quite horribly at that.

He pulled out his wand, a battered old stick with what looked like frayed unicorn hairs sticking out, and tapped the bricks on the wall in what Hermione hoped was the proper order.

"What, are we going to follow the yellow brick road and go off to meet the Wizard of Oz?" I call being Tin Man, then." Dave's reference was lost on Ron and Harry, and Hermione sighed at both his unprecedented need to be sarcastic about everything and anything, as well as the consistent blockheaded behavior of her companions when it came to muggle matters.

She took a second to envision their little group as the cast of Wizard of Oz; Hermione as Dorothy, Ron as the Cowardly Lion, Harry as the Scarecrow, Dave as the Tin Man, Tom as the Wizard and Sirius as Toto. Hermione snorted a bit at the thought, before straightening herself out and looking to the wall. The bricks seemed to melt into each other as a pathway opened before them.

_Nailed it._

* * *

Towering buildings advertising nonsensical objects surrounded Dave as he looked around, his mouth open - or at least, it was open before he realized it was and consciously closed it. As he searched the street for anything particularly eye-catching, he realized with a slight smirk that everyone looked like a massive tool, with their robes and pointed hats (some in less than desirable color schemes) not helping matters.

"This is cool," he finally managed to say with a restored straight face, and he laughed internally at Ron's exasperated expression. If nothing else, the redhead was good entertainment.

"So where to first, ginger snap?" Dave asked nonchalantly.

"Don't call me that, you prick!" said 'ginger snap' told him heatedly.

"Yeah, whatever you say, champ."

"Oh, shut up, both of you! We're going to Flourish and Blotts first, for some newer books." Hermione finally interjected, to the relief of Harry and Sirius.

"It's always about books with you," Ron muttered. Hermione seemed to either have not heard him or ignored him (probably the latter) as she walked on, leading the group down the road.

_Ooh. Someone's salty._

"Honestly, you wizards have the worst names for everything," Dave complained with no real heat behind it as the five of them made their way down the winding, busy street.

Harry and Ron stopped them only once to stare at some broomsticks in a display window, and Dave almost smashed his head against a wall. _How stereotypical even are these bastards?_

* * *

The answer seemed to be a resounding 'very,' Dave found as they entered a robe shop. (A fucking _robe shop_. By that time, he had resigned to his fate as the only person sane enough to realize how totally moronic everything about his situation was.)

As he stood on a pedestal and allowed himself to be measured by levitating measuring tapes - these wizards were very lazy, but Dave couldn't really fault them for it. If he had a shortcut to everything and anything, he'd sure as hell be abusing it - he observed his surroundings.

It seemed that there was a currency specific to the wizarding world here, of differently colored coins. The gold ones obviously were the most valuable, silver following and bronze being least valuable. It also seemed that, according to some conversations he'd had, non-wizards could have a child with magical capabilities. _Weird, but not something I can't handle._

After the enchanted measuring tapes ceased invading his personal space, he hopped down, looking to Harry for cash and avoiding the gaze of the woman looking expectantly at him, black robes in one hand and the other empty and outstretched.

"Here's four Galleons," Harry told him as four of the golden coins were placed into his palms.

"Thanks," Dave said as he turned around and handed the woman the money. The two headed out of the building to where everyone else was waiting. Hermione and Ron both held two ice creams, and Dave was just about to voice his irritation that he didn't get one when Hermione held out a cone.

"I got you a chocolate ice cream. Want it?" she asked in a light tone of voice, holding out the ice cream to him like a foul temptress of dairy. Dave took it, grinning.

"Thanks."

_This is nice,_ Dave thought to himself as he licked his ice cream strategically in order to preserve it.

* * *

_This sucks dick,_ Dave thought to himself about four minutes later.

The group had finally reached Ollivander's Wands, one of their last stops of the day, and he could barely breathe with all the dust around him.

"Man, I had almost forgotten how disgusting it was in here," Ron whispered with a small shudder. Sirius barked an agreement, then proceeded to sneeze, lifting up all the dust in the room. Dave once more appreciated his shades as everyone but him got dust in their eyes.

"I'm going outside to wait for you," Harry declared, opening the doors and leaving, Sirius padding behind him. Harry poked his head back in for a second, though.

"Oh, and I've got to warn you. Mr. Ollivander's a bit... Quirky. Don't let it get to you," Harry told them, ducking his head out and letting the door close behind him. Ron's eyes darted back and forth, as if he couldn't decide whether to stay or leave, but he finally settled on staying. _Probably in hopes I'll embarrass myself somehow. What a class A douchebag._

"Sounds fun," Dave said.

"Ah, customers," said a voice in little more than a whisper, the large room creating an echo effect. The hairs on the back of Dave's neck stood straight up, and he turned around to look straight into two large, silver eyes.

"Woah! Back it up, gramps," Dave said, putting out two hands to gesture the old man back. His eyes were unnaturally wide, like he was a scientist looking at a particularly interesting specimen. Dave was not into being the 'specimen'. His eyes flitted to Ron, which Dave was grateful for.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley. Fourteen inches, willow, and a single unicorn hair from a quite complacent female unicorn's tail. She was quite willing to lend me some of her hair; Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for other unicorns I've worked with." Dave's eyebrow shifted upwards, and Ollivander's gaze moved over to Hermione.

"And Ms. Granger. Ten and three fourths inches, vine, and a dragon's heartstring. Your wand was one of the more unique combinations I've made over the years, but it seems to have served you well." If even possible, Dave's eyebrow was now arched even higher. Ollivander turned to him.

"I don't recognize your face, but you look a bit old to be receiving your wand," the wandmaker noted.

"The name's Dave Strider, and I'm a bit of a special snowflake. So what am I gonna have to do? Fight a griffon? Ride a pegasus? Assassinate someone?"

Ollivander merely smiled. "No, it's much more simple than that. You just need to let a wand choose you."

* * *

That was apparently much harder than the old wandmaker made it seem.

Time and time again, Dave would snatch up a random wand, only for some random object to explode. He had knocked over several of the countless shelves of wands by then, and was beginning to get annoyed.

But rather than be frustrated by the lack of progress like Dave expected, Ollivander seemed to be more and more excited every time a wand failed him. And nearly a half hour after they'd entered, the store owner's excitement was now comparable to a small child alone in a candy store.

Actually, a more accurate way to describe it was a candy store that also sold laser shooting robots.

Ollivander tapped a finger on his wooden stool. "Hmm. You're quite a difficult case," he said, eyes literally sparkling, and once more it bothered Dave how this guy looked at him like a difficult puzzle, not a person. "You've tried most of my varied inventory, and there have been very little compatible results. I wonder..." After all the useless wrist waving, Dave was fairly pissed off. He was almost certain this guy was screwing with him.

"Wonder what? How long is this even gonna take, old man?"

"Patience. I believe I've found a compatible wand," Ollivander said sagely, and Dave couldn't help but scoff at that because he had said that eight times before. No, Dave wasn't even exaggerating for once. He had actually counted.

"Yeah, alright," Dave said, grabbing the wand.

The handle had a basic, uncarved grip which Dave found much more comfortable than the dumb engraved ones that gave him splinters. The wood was fairly dark, and Dave gave it the customary flick.

A series of red sparks flew out of the tip of his wand, and he felt a rush of adrenaline through his whole body. Ollivander's crazed grin turned into more of a serene smile, like he was upset that the challenge was over, but still satisfied with his handiwork.

"I thought that might work. Cedar, phoenix tail center, ten and a half inches with a single hippogriff feather. Quite inflexible. That'll be seven Galleons, Mr. Strider." Dave nodded, reaching into his pocket to grab the seven gold coins. After handing them to the elderly man, he turned around, suddenly feeling a lot better.

"Our last stop's the Apothecary," Hermione informed him as they exited the musty building, and Dave took a moment to appreciate the lack of dust everywhere before responding.

"Sounds cool. Let's go."

* * *

Dave stared intently into the mirror, door locked and shades off.

He usually hated looking at his unnaturally red eyes. They reminded him that he was an outcast, no matter what he did. They told him he didn't belong. But this was important.

His new pet crow, Flippin' (the bird) cawed in the corner, but Dave ignored him. He'd already been fed, and Dave's focus now was on something much more relevant.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember all he could.

_Flying, flying, but none of the joy someone would usually associate with it, because he just had to help Jade, and anything else was irrelevant._

_She was lying on a black stone bed, and he was standing protectively in front of her, Caledfwlch in his palms. There was suddenly an agonizing pain flaming in his chest, and it hurt so bad, and he had failed her-_

Dave snapped his eyes open, feeling sweat begin to roll down his face. He let himself breathe for a second, before looking back into the mirror.

His eyes, usually a stark crimson, were considerably less striking, covered by a milky haze like the eyes of a blind person. It lasted for only a few moments until the haze slowly cleared from his eyes. For one of the first times ever, Dave was relieved to see his eyes a bright red once more. He moved to sit on his bed, head in his hands.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

* * *

**Holy shit, this past month has been absolutely insane. I went to my first convention (ConnectiCon, it was amazing! I met this really cool Condie cosplayer at a Homestuck panel), had a 10 day vacation with almost no Wifi, and also wrote up this long ass chapter! I was actually going to include the train ride in this chapter, but it's long enough as is, so whatevs. While on vacation, I realized how awfully short my chapters are in comparison to wait time, so I'll be going back and editing to put in more content! Also, of course Dave named his crow Flippin' the Bird. Did you really expect anything else? Anyways, I have two questions for you all:**

**What house do you think Dave should be sorted into? (I still haven't made up my mind, lol)**

**How do you think Luna and Dave will get along?**

**Also, WE HAVE HIT FIFTY REVIEWS AND FIFTY FAVORITES! Please excuse me while I go blast off into the sun in utter joy. Thank you so, so much! I'm so happy my little fanfic is being this well received. It means more to me than you'll ever know. uwu**

**Leave a review with what you thought, please! See you next time!**


	7. Dave: Appreciate the fucking irony

Chapter 7 - Dave: Appreciate the fucking irony.

* * *

Ginny desperately wanted the portrait of Walburga Black to shut up for once.

Her head was spinning after being knocked down by her brothers' enchanted trunks, though her mother had patched up the small tear in skin on her temple. Ginny's head pounded, and her mother was screaming up the stairs at the twins didn't help matters. It was like she was fighting for dominance in volume with the screeching painting. It all resulted in a horrible, throbbing headache for her, and she stumbled out the door into safety from the noise, feeling the rain pour down onto her face as she leaned against the building. Satisfied, she sighed a bit, leaning her head up.

"Hey." Ginny couldn't help but be a bit startled at the sudden greeting, and turned to see Dave, wearing his typical deadpan and holding a hand up in greeting.

"Oh, hi, Dave. I didn't notice you there, sorry. It was... kind of hectic in there." Dave nodded an agreement, moving to lean beside her.

"Why does England have to be so gross in weather all the time? Like, who the fuck decided that would be a good idea." he asked, and Ginny chuckled a bit.

"Well, it's better than being inside." The screaming match could, though muffled, still be heard outside the door. Ginny had to give credit to her mother for being quite stubborn.

Dave turned his head to the door. "Speaking of which, when will they even be ready?" His suitcase sat on the ground beside him, and his wand was shoved haphazardly into his pants pocket. Ginny's was the same, though her wand was more carefully tucked into her boots.

As if on cue, the doorknob twisted and their companions for the trip came out. Harry and Ron led the group, with a large dog only recognizable as Sirius happily trotting afterward. Mrs. Weasley and Hermione followed after, with the twins coming last, both of whom looked cowed, slight fear in their eyes as they awaited their younger sister's wrath.

Ginny smiled. Maybe today was going to be fun after all. After all, she had a lesson to teach her dear older brothers.

* * *

"So, the moment we've all been waiting for, the climax of our hella rad UK adventure... A stone pillar. Truly amazing."

Sometimes Dave really had to wonder what these guys were smoking, because he wanted it desperately. Screw being the only sane one there, it was difficult to act normal around these people. They were probably influencing him with their magic, or something.

He wished that he could even claim to himself that he was being ironic when he talked about magic. Really, his life was shit.

Dave stared blankly at the "amazing" construction in front of him. It was one cobblestone piece of architecture out of many; Dave could see why England was considered depressing by people. From what he'd seen in their walk to the train station ("Really, a train station? You guys are wizards, don't you fly around on broomsticks everywhere?"), it was wet, cold, and everything was made out of stone. He'd noticed with confusion the boxier televisions and strange looking cars, which looked intensely lame and garnered quite a few snickers from him. Their ugly, metallic lime green shades were amusing, but there was something off about it. He couldn't quite place why, of course, but everything seemed outdated, to say the least. Dave had shrugged it off earlier, but he was really beginning to notice something strange.

"Alright, I'll go first," Ron told the group abruptly, before tightening his grip on the cart holding his things, throwing a smug grin at Dave and _holy shit, did he just run through a wall?_ Tanks snorted in the background at his dumbfounded expression, which was fairly ill befitting her disguise as an elderly woman.

In that moment, Dave Strider completely gave up on humanity.

"What the fu- You know what, actually, no, I'm not even surprised anymore, you guys are all batshit crazy." Mrs. Weasley shot him a disapproving frown, but she had long since stopped attempting to rectify his foul language.

"The pillar is just a disguise for the entrance to Platform 9 3/4, actually, so muggles can't get in. If a muggle tried to get in, they'd just slam headfirst into a wall," Hermione promptly informed him. Dave's eyebrow arched.

"Enlighten me on what a 'muggle' is, again," he asked. _These wizards are awful at naming things. Any kid with wizard parents gets my sympathy._

"A muggle is basically a person who can't do magic. Sometimes, a muggle baby is born with the ability to do magic, so they're called muggleborn wizards or witches. I'm a muggleborn, and sometimes people are less than kind due to that fact," Hermione confided, an exasperated and somewhat upset expression on her face. Dave nodded, a sour look on his face.

"So basically, people are racist assholes based on whether your parents are magic or not, and even go so far as to title normal people something so exponentially moronic as 'muggles'? Wow, wizards are dicks. Honestly, forget anything I may have ever said about you guys being cool."

Surprisingly enough, Hermione agreed with his sentiment. "Yes, it's true lots of wizards are elitists. But many are open to all, despite... blood status." The witch looked vaguely disgusted after using the term, and she looked to the ground self consciously. Dave put a hand on her shoulder, eliciting a surprised noise from her as she looked up, her chocolate brown eyes widening vaguely.

"Some people are assholes, and you can't stop that. It doesn't matter what they think, though. You're pretty cool, and obviously a lot cooler than a bunch of arrogant, supremacist dicks are. So ignore them. They obviously don't know what the hell they're talking about." Dave withdrew his hand, and a slight smile grew on his face. It certainly wasn't the perfect comfort, but he hoped she got the message.

"So I guess it's my turn to throw myself into a wall? Sounds fun," he told the rest of the group. But first, he had something to say.

"Tanks, your name is totally badass," he called over his shoulder as he ran headfirst into a brick wall.

_This is so fucking stupid,_ he couldn't help but think as he prepared to die in the most anticlimactic way possible.

* * *

Dave could appreciate that Luna accepted the weirdness of wizards and didn't even attempt to act normally. He could also appreciate that even he couldn't always tell when she was screwing around and when she was dead serious.

She definitely looked the 'odd' part; She spoke in a soft tone with a slight smile constantly playing upon her lips, like she knew something nobody else did. Luna's bottlecap necklace and upside down magazine completed the images, as well as the faraway look in her eyes, like she was always looking through people at something only she could see.

After some brief introductions - "Seriously? Your last name is Longbottom? Oh my god, that's amazing," - they had settled themselves, Dave sitting beside Luna and looking at her magazine, titled The Quibbler, in interest.

He was reading an article about some minister killing goblins to take over a bank when Luna's gaze suddenly shifted to him. Her large, silver eyes lost their dreamy quality.

"You're not supposed to be here, are you?" Luna asked in a confused tone of voice, looking over him like if she searched hard enough, she'd find an answer. Something about the way she phrased her sentence made it seem like more of a statement than a question. Her words shocked him into silence for a moment, before he finally could speak once more.

"Yeah. You're right," he confided, totally certain in what he was saying. "I don't... I don't think I'm supposed to be here. I don't know where I'm supposed to be." Luna's expression softened, and she smiled at him.

"I don't think I'm supposed to be here either, so it's okay." Luna gave him a reassuring smile, and Dave grinned back. He gazed out the window, looking up to the clouds. The sun emerged briefly from the dark clouds, only to be blotted out once more.

The two entered a comfortable silence, and the train continued to rattle on past the empty countryside.

* * *

In Dave's not-so-humble opinion, "what the hell am I looking at" seemed like a totally reasonable question, considering the disgusting monstrosities he was currently facing.

If a dinosaur had smashed faces into a black horse, then gotten starved for several months and been run over by a truck every now and then, it would begin to describe just how ugly the thing was. Dave supposed it could be a horse, just a horribly disfigured one. Its eyes were milky white, and its ripped black coat clung tightly to its skeleton, exposing in clear, sickening detail every single bone in its body, down to its ribcage. He could make out two black wings tucked in on the sides of its body, and Dave couldn't help but be a bit freaked out when it turned around and looked straight at him with a contemplative, almost pleading gaze, like a puppy might look at its owner when they wouldn't give it a Snausage.

It didn't help matters that the thing was pulling the carriage (honestly, a carriage? He couldn't help but think. These wizards are spoiled as hell.) that Dave, Luna, Harry, Ron and Hermione had all squeezed into together.

He had already been uncomfortable when he was forced to change into his 'school robes'. This wasn't exactly helping.

"Well, this is uncomfortable. What the hell are those… horse-y things, anyways? They're fucking nightmare fuel, why would a school use 'em?" he inquired, a quizzical tone in his voice. Harry looked to him, apparently relieved that he wasn't the only one seeing them.

"I'm not sure, but the carriages have always moved on their own before. What do you think, Ron?" Harry questioned, only to be met with a confused glance.

"What're you on about, Harry? There's nothing there... Are you feeling alright?" Now Dave was confused, but before he could ask Ron whether he was joking or not Luna beat him to the punch.

"It's alright, you two. I see them too. I have been able to since my first day," Luna confided, though there was a tinge of sadness in her tone. Dave absently wondered if being able to see the horse-things was bad. Well, it was definitely bad on his eyes, for one thing.

"Ah... Alright," Harry told her reluctantly, obviously not comforted by the fact that the so-called 'loony' one and Dave were the only others who saw it. Dave snorted inwardly. Like he had any room to judge people on, considering they were fucking wizards.

Hermione looked fairly concerned. "Are you sure you're all feeling alright?" she questioned once more, before letting the matter go at a dismissing shake of Dave's head.

"Well, I'm as fine as you can be when going to a magical castle in a fucking carriage pulled by dead horses. Thanks for asking." Ginny let out a short bark of laughter, while Hermione just sighed.

"You're alright, you know that?" Ginny told him, giving a thumbs-up in his direction. Dave did a mock bow (or at least as much of one as he could in the confined space.)

"Thanks. Really, though, what kind of school makes the students wear mandatory dresses every day? Sorry, I meant 'robes,'" he said, his tone somewhat mocking as he fingered his black robes and uncomfortably unbuttoned the top button of his button-up shirt. Dave felt like a prick with his slacks, robe and shirt combined. He didn't have a tie with his house's colors on it yet, since he had yet to be sorted. And speaking of sorting...

"So what's the deal with the houses, anyways? I only know that they determine your roommates and stuff." Dave asked the group.

Hermione (as per usual) jumped on the answer before anyone else could open their mouth. "Well, the four houses are-"

"Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin and Ravenclaw, I know. What other stuff? Why do they matter?" Hermione looked vaguely irritated at being interrupted, and tried to start again.

"Anyways," she said shortly, showing her annoyance at his arrogant behavior, "a student is sorted by the Sorting Hat - shut up, Dave, let me explain - who sees what quality the student values and displays most out of courage, intelligence, loyalty and ambition. They're then sorted to the respective house, which will serve as their pseudo-family. Being among a bunch of like-minded people helps you find friends, though the house system is also susceptible to stereotypes and prejudices." Hermione closed her explanation/rant with a slightly smug smile. "Any more questions?"

"Nope, I think I'm good. Wait, how exactly does a hat sort people?" At this, Luna smiled.

"You'll just have to find out for yourself," she told him. "I'm warning you, though, it's a strange experience for sure." Dave wasn't sure how to take that, so he instead looked outward to the castle.

Its majesty definitely hadn't been overstated when others described it to him. It looked like it went on forever, its high towers and sprawling walls taking up much of the land. The lake by the bottom reflected the few stars in the sky off its waters, and though it was a rainy and cloudy day, it still looked stunning. Dave couldn't help but feel somewhat insignificant next to the castle's huge presence. It was like Dracula's Castle, but somewhat less intimidating; Instead it seemed open and welcoming. Hogwarts was, despite its less-than-pleasant name, beautiful.

"Damn," he muttered out of amazement. Luna leaned out from next to him to view the castle as well.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" she whispered, to which he could only nod.

The carriage came to an abrupt halt, effectively ruining the moment and causing Luna to crash into Dave's back.

He winced at the pain in his back, but decided not to comment on the horses'(?) less-than-stellar steering skills. He jumped out quickly, and to his discomfort, one of the things began _nuzzling_ him.

"What the everloving fuck!" he yelled, jumping back a safe distance from the thing.

Luna giggled. "I think they like you."

"Well, I don't want to be liked by these things! Oh god, it was fucking _salivating_ on me!" And true to his words, a thick line of monster-horse spit ran down his sleeve. Dave tried to dry it off, to no avail. He didn't know many spells yet, and _oh Jesus Christ, it's on my hand, ew ew ew this is so fucking gross._

Ginny and Ron were laughing their asses off a few feet away (too far away for Dave to punch them in the face, regrettably), and Harry was barely restraining himself from letting out a snicker. Dave gave them a glare, though it probably wasn't too effective with his shades covering his eyes and horse mucus dripping down his robes. (Honestly, Dave didn't think his life could become any more embarrassing. He hoped that some higher force that they would take mercy on him and smite him into a tiny pile of dust. Maybe some fancy, dramatic lightning too, if he was lucky.) Hermione took her wand out, pointing it at Dave and, shaking with restrained laughter, she choked out the word, "Tergeo."

The saliva flew off him, disappearing into thin air. "Thanks, asswipe," he said, frowning at the fact that they were still laughing at his expense. They paid no heed to his comment, though. Hearing someone walk up behind him, he turned around, only to face someone who could only be described as a witch.

She was somewhat tall, being about the same height as Dave. She looked incredibly strict, and her hair was tied back into a bun which allowed no hairs free from its grip. Upon her head was a black pointed hat (and in that moment, Dave just gave up on any possible hope he had left for wizards and their culture), and though it would have looked incredibly silly on anyone else, she had an expression on her face which told him that if he tried to make a snide comment, the consequences would not be fun.

Dave decided that she would not be his favorite teacher.

"Mr. Strider?" she asked properly, though from the look on her face Dave decided that the question was more of a formality than anything, and that she was plenty aware of who she was talking to.

"Yeah, what's up?" Dave responded easily.

"Well, he fits the description," she muttered under her breath to herself, before composing herself and speaking once more. "My name is Professor McGonagall. I've been assigned by the Headmaster to take you to the school for your Sorting. Come now, we haven't all day," she told him, and Dave waved back to his companions (they were still laughing, damn them) before walking off with her. He quickly caught up to her, looking quizzically at her get-up before speaking.

"So, what're we doing," he asked her, staring straight ahead to the castle they were approaching.

McGonagall looked over to him, and Dave noticed with strange satisfaction that he had a few inches on the woman. Everyone in England seemed fairly short, except Ron - but that kid was like a fucking titan, so it didn't count in Dave's mind.

"You'll be brought to the Headmaster's office, and from there, I don't know. Professor Dumbledore can't be telling me everything, of course. I'm just a professor here. Anyways, let's be making this quick, I've got to attend to the first years."

Dave nodded. "Alright, sounds good." The two entered a (somewhat strained) silence as the doors opened, and Dave got his first view of what Hogwarts really looked like.

Walls covered in paintings seemed to stretch out forever, with a set of stairs in front of him. Windows offered a stunning view down to the lake area, where he could still see all the carriages and such gathered. More alarming, as well as attention grabbing, were all the paintings on the wall. Each was of a person, though some were vacant, and they were _moving_. As in, having pleasant conversations with other portraits. Dave took a moment to gawk when a painting of a friendly-looking old couple waved at him cheerfully, as if they weren't just portraits. _What the fuck._

McGonagall looked back at him impatiently. "Up this stairwell, Mr. Strider." He nodded numbly, turning his head to gaze up at the grand staircase. For a moment, Dave felt like there was something he needed to say in the face of the looming stairs, something important, but he dismissed it. Probably wasn't important anyways.

He quickly ascended the staircase, his right hand skimming over the mahogany railing. That is, until the stairs began levitating.

"What the hell?!" he called out, now gripping the immaculately carved mahogany with both hands, a look of slight intimidation in his eyes (which was yet another reason he wore the shades; They saved him much embarrassment.) as the stairs continually defied gravity.

The two went up several stories, and as Dave looked over to where McGonagall stood, he was irritated to see her nonchalant expression as she examined her nails, not even bothering to hold the railing. Dave could swear he didn't make up the look of smug satisfaction on her face at his alarmed reaction. _Yeah, I don't like her._

The stairs finally lurched to a halt at the highest floor. McGonagall quickly continued walking, like it was no problem that the stairs just levitated. She looked to him in surprise, though it was obvious she was stifling a grin (and probably some laughter as well). Despite her strict, teacher-y appearance, she seemed more immature than she let on.

"Are you alright? I apologize if that jarred you any," she told him. To anyone else it would be hard to perceive the mocking tone behind it, but to Dave it was clear as day.

"I don't know your definition of 'alright', but I'm pretty sure I'm far from it," he muttered to himself, jogging up the remaining steps to catch up.

The new corridor they'd entered was even longer, somehow, but luckily fate decided to spare Dave from walking any further as they stopped by a large, stone gargoyle.

"Acid pops," McGonagall said with utter conviction in her tone, and before Dave could question her actions (or her sanity) the gargoyle sprang aside, revealing a hidden entryway. He looked into the entryway only to find - to his utter dismay - even _more _stairs. The staircase in question was dark wood, with the steps intertwined with a large pole in the middle. The pole had designs of dragons carved into it, and the entire thing looked like a magnificent waste of money.

"Classy," Dave commented in complete deadpan.

* * *

The room it led to definitely couldn't qualify as classy.

After saying goodbye to McGonagall at the doorway, he looked up once more as if he'd expected the stairs to disappear while he wasn't looking. His legs were practically about to give in from all the step-climbing he'd had to do that evening, but he somehow persevered. He took a moment to catch his breath outside the doorway at the top before knocking and, hearing a voice from inside granting him entry, striding into the office with utter confidence (though it was mostly a front, but wasn't that always how it was?) and glancing around at the rest of the office. Its odd design was a striking difference from the otherwise beautifully overdone interior of Hogwarts.

"Ah, Mr. Strider. Have a seat." Dave looked over to the voice's source, and saw an elderly man with a long, white beard staring back at him with blue eyes which practically twinkled in excitement. Headmaster Dumbledore's - for it could obviously be nobody else - garish, purple robes did nothing to help his odd appearance, and Dave hoped beyond all hopes that the wizard's current attire wasn't the standard sort of clothing that wizards wore in their free time. Dave obeyed his suggestion, taking the opportunity to give his aching legs a break as he messily sprawled out onto the extremely comfortable armchair. Dumbledore remained sitting behind his desk for a moment, before standing.

"Before I begin the more serious aspect of our conversation, let me welcome you to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If you ever need me, I'll be in my office, other than special occasions. By the way, you'll be in the fifth year, and given an adequate amount of time to catch up," Dumbledore had introduced grandly, the moonlight from outside shining off his spectacles. Dave looked outside for a moment, feeling like he'd been walking up the stairs longer than he actually had been. He absently wondered when the Sorting would take place. He looked back into Dumbledore's eyes. "Oh, and don't worry about missing anything, my dear boy," the Headmaster chuckled. "Getting the first years prepared for the Sorting actually takes quite a bit longer than one would think, despite Minerva's best efforts." The wizard chuckled at this, though Dave was a bit confused. _Weird. He practically read my mind... Well, I mean, they are magic and shit. Better be careful around this guy. _It took Dave a moment before he assumed that 'Minerva' was just McGonagall's first name.

"Alright," Dave said reluctantly. "So let's not dance around the real topic of our conversation like a bunch of pansies practicing for the big ballet recital. Why was I called here? Hell, why are you even letting me in the school? That sounds like a security risk to me. If you're really as scared of this Voldemort guy as you make yourselves out to be, you should be more careful, I think."

Dumbledore let out a chuckle at Dave's tactless, blunt questions. "You'll find, Mr. Strider, that those questions will yield very similar answers." At this, the old man's cheerful, serene exterior faded into something more serious. "To be straight to the point, I'm not sure if I can trust you. You're a bit of a wild card, Mr. Strider. None of us here are sure who, exactly, you are, not even yourself. And that, quite simply, is dangerous." The headmaster stood from where he was seated, walking over to the window which overlooked much of the beautiful castle, as well as where the carriages sat.

"I love this school and its students," Dumbledore confided, looking Dave straight in the eyes. For a moment, he felt vulnerable, like the old man was gazing right through his shades and boring right into Dave. "It is my duty to protect them, you see. I've made mistakes before with how I raise my students, Mr. Strider, and so I am hoping that after spending time here, you will grow to care for these people as well. Also," he said with a small, mischievous smile, the annoying sparkle in his eyes coming back, "your companions did threaten me in several of their letters if I were to mistreat you. I would hate to 'feel a wrath infinitely worse than that of all the horrorterrors in the Furthest Ring on a particularly vexatious Monday,' after all."

"Wait, what?"

"Besides, you seem like a fine young man. I know you'll turn out to be someone great," Dumbledore said with tranquility, his personality reverting back to wise, calm old man once more. "Or perhaps you already have, and we just do not know yet. Now, I'd better get you to the Sorting, Mr. Strider. I suspect that it shall begin soon."

* * *

If Dave had thought Dumbledore's office was unnecessarily flashy, he was definitely not prepared for the Great Hall.

It definitely lived up to its name, with its stone walls shining a bright gold in the candlelight. It wasn't surprising, considering the hundreds of candles floating above the four long tables. The walls extended upwards into a beautiful view of the night sky, with clouds swirling about. He looked about, seeing the bronze braziers with flames flickering about inside. His standing place was very close to another table, though not quite as long and horizontally oriented instead of vertical. In the middle of the table, a large, throne-like chair sat. Above it were several portraits and paintings, all of which had moving contents. Yet another large, beautiful window loomed over the rest of the hall.

"Damn," he muttered, and Dumbledore seemed to catch his whisper of awe.

"I'm glad you like it, Mr. Strider," he said back. "Now, you'll just wait here for your sorting. You'll be sorted last, separately from the first years. I've prepared a cover story for you, so you needn't worry." Dumbledore proceeded to sit in the large, throne-like chair, gesturing to a smaller one beside him for Dave to sit in. He sat as several people began to file in, taking seats at the teachers' table. Many more students began to come in through the front doors, taking seats at the four tables, which were color coded to red and gold, yellow and black, blue and bronze, and silver and green. Noticing Harry, Ron and Hermione at the red-and-gold table (Gryffindor, he figured), he gave a short wave, which they didn't seem to notice. He tried again to Luna at the blue-and-bronze table (Ravenclaw?), and she waved back to him without even looking. He shrugged, already knowing her odd mannerisms.

Dave tried (and failed) to ignore the many people staring at him. He could see their whispers, and knew that the rumor mill here was definitely going to be annoying throughout the year. Looking past the inquisitive glances and shared whispers, he instead focused on the group of scared little kids at the opposite side of the room, with McGonagall at the lead. They all looked like they were going to piss their pants to some degree, and hell, he even saw some trembling. _I guess those are the first years, then. Haha, they look like little baby scrubs. How cute._

They all lined up next to a stool which had upon it a musty old hat, and Dave sent Dumbledore a questioning glance, wondering whether he should go in the line as well. The headmaster shook his head with a smile, and so Dave stayed put in his dingy little chair. The students at the tables seemed to look at the old, wrinkled hat fondly, and he couldn't help but wonder why. _What with these wizards, they probably charmed it to sing and do a little fucking jig or something._

The hat erupted in song, and Dave attempted to resist the urge to slam his head down into the table. He couldn't, and finally just faceplanted on the hard oak, groaning as the hat continued to sing (it could belt out some high notes in style, he admitted) something about houses and fighting. He tuned back in, only to hear the last few sentences.

"Oh, know the perils, read the signs, the warning history shows, for our Hogwarts is in danger from external, deadly foes. And we must unite inside her or we'll crumble from within. I have told you, I have warned you... Let the Sorting now begin." A moment of silence echoed throughout the hall, and Dave assumed that such grim poetry didn't often spout from the hat. It passed, though, and applause resounded throughout the hall, punctuated with murmurs and whispers as students whispered to their friends about what the song meant. Next to him, a slight frown of concern played upon Dumbledore's face, though he did a good job concealing it.

"Abercrombie, Euan!" called out McGonagall, and one of the many nervous-looking boys sat upon the stool, the hat being placed gently on his head only to fall comically down to his shoulders. Dave absentmindedly wondered what this had to do with sorting before a great, loud call of "GRYFFINDOR!" echoed throughout the Hall, which was met by short applause at the Gryffindor table.

McGonagall called the names relentlessly, until the final girl (Rose Zeller, if Dave remembered correctly) was sorted into Hufflepuff, which was the yellow-and-black table. Dumbledore stood grandly in his purple robes, spreading his hands wide like .

"We have one final student to sort before you eat your meals," Dumbledore announced, smiling a bit at the scattered groans. "Don't worry, it won't be long until the feast shall begin. Mr. Strider, here," he said, gesturing to Dave who stood in turn, "is an exchange student from the Salem Institute of Witchcraft and Wizardry in America. He'll be joining us in fifth year, and I ask you to treat him as one of your fellow students."

Feeling as though he should say something, he raised a hand up in greeting. "Sup." Shoving his hands back into his pockets - one advantage of robes was that they had a ridiculous amount of pockets - he strode down the steps.

The hat was placed on his head, falling over his forehead and only prevented from descending further by the slight protrusion of his shades.

_"So what, am I going to be mind read or some shit?" _he wondered to himself.

_"I suppose that's a way of saying it," _a voice whispered in his mind,_ "and do watch your language, if you please."_ Dave couldn't help but mentally facepalm; Of fucking course.

The Sorting Hat continued onward with its analysis. _"Now then, where to put you? Much bravery, oh yes, you're quite a courageous soul, aren't you, Mr. Strider? Your bravery and fighting skills are often idolized by your friends, but you and I both know that you wouldn't consider yourself a worthy Gryffindor. Slytherin, on the other hand, would be a good fit, with your determination and cunning - the LOHAC Stock Exchange, for instance, now that was a clever way to make some quick Boonbucks - but you put yourself before others often. Hmm... Decisions, decisions." _Dave wondered what the 'LOHAC Stock Exchange' was for a second. He imagined himself in a suit and tie at the New York Stock Exchange for a moment, snorting quietly at the thought.

_"Yo, are you done yet, Hat?" _Dave thought/said(?) to the Hat, who in return chuckled.

_"You're definitely one of the most difficult student's I've sorted, Mr. Strider. Ravenclaw might do you well, with your wit and intelligence. Yes, you would definitely do well in Ravenclaw. And still Hufflepuff shows promise, with your undying loyalty to your friends and your hard work at protecting them. You show aptitude for all houses, though some more than others. So what should it be, Mr. Strider?" _the Hat finished.

_"Wait, I get to decide?"_

_"Well, you play a role in the Sorting, yes, but ultimately my decision is final." _

_"Wait. The kitchens are near the Hufflepuff dorms, right?"_

_"That is correct,"_ answered the hat.

_"And Hufflepuffs are known for being wimpy little scrubs."_

_"That's... not how I would put it, but yes, Hufflepuffs are stereotyped to be quite_ _passive."_ At the Hat's words, Dave allowed a large grin to come over his face and remain there.

_"You know my decision, then."_

Dave was really loving the irony.

* * *

Hermione stared blankly up at Dave, then to Dumbledore, then Dave again, who had been sitting at the stool for nearly five minutes. If there was ever a Hatstall, it was definitely him.

Her eyes were practically glazed over as they swept across the room. Most of the students were (quite loudly, she thought) muttering to their friends and neighbors about whatever, and she wondered how hard it could possibly be to sort Dave.

She sat straight up, looking to Ron and Harry, who had a far-off look to their eyes and were slouched over as she was a few moments ago. "Hey, Harry, Ron. What house do you think Dave will be in? I personally think Ravenclaw; He's got the wit and intelligence for it, not to mention he seems to have a thing for birds."

Harry bit his lip like he always did when he was really pondering something as he mulled over her question. "I think Gryffindor. He was very brave when he helped Mrs. Weasley-" his tone became a bit more hushed when he said that; None of the trio liked to think about Dave's boggart, "and from what you've said, Ron, he knows his way around a sword. That seems pretty courageous to me."

The last of the three looked at Harry like he had just told a joke Ron didn't quite understand. "Are you raving mad? The kid's going to Slytherin, that's where all the pricks end up." Hermione didn't waste her breath on giving Ron another ineffective scolding, instead settling for a disappointed sigh and a slight shake of the head.

Their conversation topic being finished, Hermione looked back over to Dave, who seemed to be grinning wildly. It was odd to see such unrestrained emotion on his face, and Hermione assumed the Sorting was coming to an end soon.

As soon as she thought it, the Sorting Hat's rumpled brim opened up, hesitating slightly before seemingly making a decision and booming out a single word.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

A moment of shocked silence echoed through the hall as nobody made a sound; But the second soon passed as the corresponding table broke out into cheers and applause. Dave took the hat off his head and not-so-gently put it back onto the stool, strolling to the yellow and black table with a smug-looking smile on his face, like he didn't have a care in the world. Ron looked absolutely gobsmacked, while Harry just mildly confused. Dave sat next to his housemates, a few patting him on the back.

_Well, that was more than unexpected._

* * *

**AN: ****The majority of you were cool with it, and I loved the idea of it so, so much. Hufflepuff Dave, yay! If anyone wants to know some more reasons for this sorting, feel free to PM me about it! I hope you enjoyed this chapter (more long chapters, and only after about two weeks, compared to the usual month wait! I'm stepping up my game, yay) as much as I enjoyed writing it. By the way, school is beginning for me very, very soon, so while I'll try to keep up with the longer chapters they may take a bit longer to come out.**

**Also, when Dave gets slobbered on by the thestral (that was so fun to write), Hermione, Ron and Ginny are laughing because they can see the thestral's spit. Combined with the fact that cool, deadpan Dave is FLIPPING THE FUCK OUT at thin air... it's pretty funny. **

**Oh! And before I forget, I have a question. How do you capitalize words like 'muggle,' 'muggleborn,' etc. I'm not too great with knowing what and what not to capitalize, lol. Help is always appreciated!**

**Thank you for reading! Please review, and have a great day. :)**


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